Aevitas
by EKWTSM9
Summary: "You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair." - Douglas MacArthur
1. Chapter 1

The yellow cab pulled to the curb in front of the dark blue clapboard bungalow, the windshield wipers straining to keep up with the pounding rain. It idled for almost a minute as the passenger paid the fare, then the back door opened and a grey-haired older man wearing a beige raincoat stepped out, glancing up with a scowl towards the grey clouds as the cabbie sprinted from the driver's door to the trunk and removed the black suitcase from the trunk.

Nodding his thanks, the passenger grabbed the handle of the rolling bag and started up the walkway towards the Seward Park address, pulling his raincoat collar up even higher, if that were possible. Despite the weather, he couldn't resist a warm anticipatory smile; it seemed like ages since he'd been here.

He had just stepped onto the landing when the door was thrown open. He stopped abruptly, almost taking a step backwards as the middle-aged woman with the short, stylish grey bob almost jogged the few steps towards him with her arms outstretched.

As she enveloped him in a fond hug, he let go of the suitcase handle and returned the embrace, rocking her back and forth, chuckling. He glanced over her shoulder at the tall dark-haired man who stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, smiling widely at the sight.

The woman pulled back but kept her hands on the newcomer's arms, staring into his green eyes. "Oh, Steve," Jeannie Callison sighed happily, "I am so glad you could come."

Steve Keller looked into her bright eyes. "I'm just glad you called me, Jeannie, I really am. It's been too long."

Shaking her head ruefully, she dropped her hands and took a step back. "You can say that again."

The man in the doorway stepped closer and held out his right hand. "Great to see you, Steve," he offered warmly as they shook hands and he reached for the black suitcase with his free hand.

"You too, John. Hey, I can take that," Steve said quickly, glancing at the suitcase.

"Nonsense, you're our guest now, remember. This is part of the hospitality." With a gentle laugh, John Callison slid the trolley handle back into the suitcase and grabbed the side handle, picking it up and carrying it into the house.

Shaking his head as he watched his host disappear into the house, Steve looked down at the woman by his side. She grinned up at him, slipping her arm through his and leading him from under the canopied landing. "You know, you coulda brought the nice weather with you," she chuckled as they stepped over the threshold. "I hear it's gorgeous in San Francisco right now."

"Well, I'm still living in Berkeley, you know, but close enough. Sorry, but no visit to Seattle would be complete without the full northwest weather experience."

"That's what this is, hunh? An 'experience'?"

"What would you call it?"

She laughed amiably and gripped his arm a little tighter, then she pulled him to a stop and turned to face him, her grin slipping slightly. "Steve, he's so excited that you're here but…." She glanced away and took a deep breath. "I just want to warn you… it's been awhile since you've seen him…" Her eyes were brimming when she looked up at him again. "He's old, Steve… and what he's been going through lately has been really hard on him."

He caught his breath slightly, feeling like a small cold hand had just grabbed his heart. "You said it was his eyes?"

She nodded, and he got the feeling she wanted to explain the situation to him in more detail before she allowed him any further into the house. There was a bench just inside the front door in the foyer and she pulled him down onto it. He could feel his heart start to pound.

"I'll let him explain what he's been going through - I know he wants to do that, but I just want to warn you before you see him. Because he can't see properly his balance is affected. He took a fall the other day and hit his head. He was okay, I took him to his doctor. The bruises are going away but he has some scabs on his scalp; it looks awful, worse than it actually is. But it shook him up quite a bit. He's started to wear his dark glasses all day now, even in the evening, and he's not leaving his room as much. He can't read or really watch TV now, but he keeps the TV on CNN and listens to the news all day." She tried to smile encouragingly as his frown deepened.

"This operation? It's gonna fix all this?" His voice was so quiet she could hardly hear him.

She nodded with a smile. "That's what we've been told and he's counting on it, believe me. But I'll let him tell you all about that too." She stared at him, her eyebrows raised in anticipation; after a couple of silent seconds, she felt him relax and he smiled back at her. "Why don't we get your coat off and you can go in and spend some time with him before dinner?"

Smiling through a heavy swallow, Steve nodded and began to get to his feet. "Yeah…" he answered quietly, "yeah, I'd like that."

# # # # #

He stopped in front of the white bedroom door and closed his eyes. He hadn't been to Seattle to see his former partner and old friend since he and Dan Robbins had flown up to attend the 90th birthday celebration that Jeannie and her family had hosted. They had spoken on the phone from time to time in the almost two years between that joyous occasion and today, trying to keep in touch, their conversations mostly turning to politics and the passing of old friends.

Clearing his throat quietly, he raised his right hand and knocked loudly. There was a brief beat before a strong, familiar voice called out, "Come in!"; he turned the doorknob and opened the door.

The room was brightly lit and the staccato delivery of CNN's Wolf Blitzer could be heard emanating from the TV on the bureau against the wall beside the door. Wearing beige Dockers, a black knit sweater over a yellow shirt and his feet in slippers, Mike Stone reached for the remote lying on the bed beside him and thumbed the mute button.

His eyes hidden behind the very dark black-rimmed glasses, he turned towards the door in obvious anticipation. He sat forward slightly, beginning to grin. "Steve? Is that you?" The hope and joy in his voice cut through Steve's heart as the younger man slowly crossed the room.

 _He's aged so much,_ Steve thought as he approached the bed. Even with Jeannie's warning, it was a shock. The red, angry scabs on the top of the older man's head stood out starkly against the pale scalp, wispy strands of now-white hair neatly combed overtop, others curling around his ears.

Mike, straining to hear an answer to his inquiry, began to slide towards the edge of the bed, his right hand out. Now within reach, Steve took the slightly shaking hand with its paper-thin skin in his and sat on the side of the bed, reaching up with his other hand to lay it against the older man's face.

"Yeah, Mike," he said softly, "it's me."


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar low chuckle reached his ears as Steve attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, his hand still on the side of his old friend's face. Mike's grin couldn't get any wider.

"I thought that might be you when I heard the front door open." He cocked his head and chuckled again. "I may not be able to see too well right now but there's nothing wrong with my ears these hearing aids can't fix." He pointed to his left ear with his left hand, his right still firmly holding the younger man's hand.

Steve patted the side of Mike's face and laughed, beginning to relax; though time was beginning to ravage his body, the sharp wit and sunny disposition that had always been the cornerstones of Mike's engaging personality were still obviously in full bloom.

"How was your flight?"

Laughing once more, Steve gave the older man's face one last pat before lowering his hand. "It was fine," he said dismissively, shaking his head with a chuckle, "it was a flight. So, what's going on with you?"

Mike waved vaguely, as if brushing off the change in subject. "Oh, it's nothing much."

"That's not what Jeannie said. What's going on?"

With a heavy sigh, Mike lifted his head slightly and Steve knew that behind the dark glasses the older man was rolling his eyes.

"Look, Jeannie said dinner won't be ready for another half hour or so, so we have some time. What's going on with your eyes?"

Mike let go of Steve's hand and pushed himself back towards the head of the bed. He patted the bedspread beside him. "Get yourself comfortable," he said with a resigned chuckle and, laughing, the younger man kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed to sit beside the older man, both leaning against the headboard.

"You want a drink? I can get Jeannie to bring you a beer or a Coke or something?"

"No, I'm good. She already offered. I'll wait till dinner. So, tell me, what's going on?"

Mike shook his head once, emphatically, and exhaled loudly. "It, ah, well, it started about a month ago. All of a sudden one morning I couldn't open my eyes very well. My lids felt heavy and everybody started asking me if I was falling asleep. I was fine, I was just having a hard time opening my eyes. It was weird.

"So John took me to see my doctor and he did some tests and it turns out I have some kind of localized facial paralysis around my eyes, making it almost impossible for me to open my eyes." He paused and grinned reassuringly. "It doesn't hurt, it's just damned annoying. I have to hold the eyelids open with my fingers, or else tilt my head back as far as it'll go and look out from under the lids – it makes Jeannie laugh 'cause she says it looks like I'm channeling William F. Buckley," he chuckled, his shoulders shaking.

Steve laughed as well, reaching out to slap the older man on the arm. He was relieved that Mike was still so sharp and still had his sense of humour.

"But, the downside is, it's affected my balance." Mike pointed to the top of his head. "I supposed Jeannie told you about my fall."

"Yeah." Steve's tone turned serious. "You sure you're okay?"

"Oh yeah, I had a lot worse on the job, you know that."

"Yeah, but let's face it, Mike, you weren't 91 when you were on the job, remember?"

Mike grunted with a facial shrug, then chuckled again. "Well, you do have a point." He reached out and groped around briefly before his hand found Steve's leg, where it landed and squeezed. "Anyway, my doctor sent me to this specialist and this guy – he's an eye doctor – he thinks he has a solution for me."

"And that's this operation tomorrow?"

"Yeah. He's gonna do it right in his office, and I get to go home afterwards. Day surgery, I think they call it."

"That's right. I'm gonna go with you."

Mike grinned again. "Yeah, John has to go to work and Jeannie has that big, oh, what did she call it? Anyway, that appointment's been on her calendar for almost a year now. I couldn't ask her not to go because of bad timing on my part."

"And that's why I'm here," Steve said warmly, putting a hand over Mike's on his leg. "But even if Jeannie and John were able to be there with you, I'd've flown up here anyway." He watched as Mike's smile disappeared and the older man swallowed heavily, his lower lip trembling slightly. "So, ah, so what is the doctor going to do tomorrow, do you know?" he asked quickly, squeezing the older man's hand.

Mike cleared his throat. "Oh, ah, you're not gonna believe this but… they're gonna put springs in my eyelids."

Steve froze, and Mike could sense him pulling back slightly, felt the green eyes boring into his face. "Springs?" he asked quietly.

"Unh-hunh. They put these tiny titanium springs in, one in each eyelid, attached to some kind of anchor under the frontal bone, which is this one here," he said, pointing to the bone under his eyebrow, "and it allows me to open my eyelid. The only work I have to do is close it, and I'm pretty sure I can do that with no problem," he finished with a chuckle.

"Whoa," Steve said softly, astonished, "that's, um, wow, I've never heard of that."

"I hadn't either," Mike concurred, "but this eye doctor says he's done it a lot. Who'd thought, hunh?"

"So, ah, what's the recovery time for all this?"

Mike shrugged. "Well, he said I'll have to have my eyes bandaged for just a couple of days to allow the incisions to heal and then, after that, nothing."

"And it's a done deal? I mean, the success rate on this is…?"

"Oh, about eighty percent I think he said. I mean, you know, nothing is ever a hundred percent guarantee, right? But he said the odds of this being a success are far higher than it being a failure. Besides, what have I got to lose, right? I can't see properly right now so I might as well take the chance, right?"

Steve nodded; he realized Mike couldn't see him but knew the older man would feel the slight shaking of the bed. "Right." He squeezed Mike's hand again.

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened slightly. Jeannie stuck her head in, her eyes lighting up when she caught sight of the two men sitting on the bed side by side. With a broad smile she nodded at the younger man, who grinned back.

"Gentlemen, we're going to be eating in about fifteen minutes or so and I was wondering if you wanted to join John and me for a drink before dinner?"

Steve turned to the man beside him. "That sounds good to me. Mike?"

Mike had tilted his head back and was sniffing the air. "Do you smell that, Steve?" He turned his shaded eyes towards his former partner. "My son-in-law is the best grill chef I've ever met. You're in for a treat."

Steve laughed, turning back to the door. "It smells wonderful." He nodded towards Mike. "I'll help him in."

Jeannie winked and backed out of the door.

"I don't need any help," Mike said gruffly as he pulled his hand out from under Steve's and began to push himself towards the far side of the bed.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Steve watched as the older man's feet slid to the floor and he pushed himself up. Stooping slightly, one hand on the mattress for balance as he crossed around the bed towards the door, he gestured with his chin towards the end of the bureau near the door. Steve glanced over, his heart stopping a beat when he spotted the cane propped against the wall.

As he took a step towards the door to pick it up, Mike reached his side, holding out his right hand to take the cane. "It helps with my balance," he said quietly as he preceded Steve into the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

"So Mike tells me you're a master griller, John," Steve said as he settled onto the couch beside the older man, his host coming into the living room from the kitchen.

Jeannie's husband looked up and grinned, shooting a warm glance at his father-in-law. "Geez, I hope I can live up to the hype." He chuckled as he put two large pilsner glasses on the coasters on the coffee table in front of the former cops, winking at Mike as he did so.

Jeannie had entered behind him with a glass of wine in one hand and a bowl of potato chips in the other. "Mike is absolutely right. Ever since we got that permanent canopy erected, he's been able to perfect his culinary skill." John snorted and slapped her on the butt affectionately as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

"What canopy?" Steve asked as he leaned forward, snatching a chip as Jeannie put the bowl on the table, popping it into his mouth before picking up the glass of beer. Both younger people watched as Mike sat forward, putting his right hand against the edge of the table before feeling around carefully for the glass. Frowning, Steve glanced at Jeannie but she shook her head quickly. Finding the glass, Mike picked it up and sat back. Steve looked at Jeannie again and she smiled triumphantly as she turned to sit in the armchair, putting her wineglass on the end table.

"You've seen this weather," Mike explained before he took a sip of beer. "John's a year-round griller, so the only way he could do that is with some kinda shelter over the bar-b-que."

"I'll take you out and show you after," Jeannie continued the explanation. " It helps when you're married to a contractor. It's almost like an outdoor kitchen back there now. The kids think it's just great."

Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Cool. Speaking of the kids, how are they doing?"

"Well, J.J. is going into his final year – I think he's toying with the idea of going for his Ph.D., and Steph just finished her sophomore year, so all is well in that department, knock on wood." Jeannie rapped her knuckles against the wooden top of the end table, chuckling.

J.J., as John Junior was known to family and friends, was studying political science at the University of Chicago. Stephanie, younger by two years, was going into her third year of medicine at Duke.

"It's a good thing we both make a good living," John added with a rueful chuckle as he re-entered, carrying his own beer. He glanced at his wife before sitting on the side of her armchair. "The steaks'll be done in about five minutes."

"Good," she laughed, slapping him lightly on the knee, "the table is set and everything's ready to go."

Steve saluted with his beer as he nodded his approval. "I can't tell you how long it's been since I've had a good home-grilled steak, let me tell you."

"Well then that means you have to come up and visit us a lot more often," Mike said with an affectionate chuckle, but all three younger people could hear the wistful longing behind the jest.

Steve looked at his old friend and for a split second the grin slipped away. "I'm just going to have to start doing that," he said, trying to put as much lightness into the words as he could, still shaken by how much his friend had aged.

Jeannie looked up at her husband and tapped him on the knee. John looked down at her, frowning. She nodded briskly towards the kitchen. "Oh, yeah," he said quickly, "the steaks." He looked at the two older man on the couch. "Gentlemen, I believe dinner is about to be served." He got up and disappeared once more into the kitchen and everyone heard the back door open and close.

"Bring your drinks," Jeannie said as she got up, picking up her wine glass and turning towards the kitchen.

Mike reached for his beer but Steve beat him to it. "I've got your beer," he said, getting to his feet with both glasses in hand.

"Thanks," Mike replied as he pushed himself to the edge of the couch, reached down for the cane at his feet and got slowly to his feet.

"Have both of you washed your hands?" Jeannie called from the kitchen and the older men looked at each other. Although Mike couldn't see him, he heard Steve chuckle.

"She hasn't changed a bit, has she?"

Mike shook his head with a laugh. "Oh dear god, no."

"And the bathroom is…?" Steve asked slowly, trying to remember.

"Follow me," Mike grinned with a beckoning gesture. He knew the layout of the house extraordinarily well and Steve, both beer glasses still in hand, confidently followed him to a nearby bathroom then back to the dining room, stopping at the chair at the end of the table nearest the door. "I get the Head of the House seat," he said with a chuckle as he put the cane on floor beside the chair and sat.

Laughing, Steve put the two glasses on the table, sitting to Mike's right. Jeannie was still in the kitchen and now entered with a large wooden bowl of Caesar salad and a smaller glass bowl of potato salad.

John entered on her heels with two platters, one with steaks and the other baked potatoes. As he put the platters on the table, he glanced at their guest. "Now Steve," he began with a hint of mischief in his voice, "Mike told me you like your steaks rare but not blue. Is that right or was he just pulling my leg?"

Steve sat back and shot his former partner a bemused look; Mike was staring straight ahead, a smile lighting his face behind the dark glasses. "Your father-in-law has a good memory," he said with a chuckle. "I did and I still do."

Mike raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "See, I told you."

"And, if I remember correctly," Steve continued almost smugly, "you likes his medium-rare. Am I right?"

The older man laughed, reaching for his beer and sitting back. "You are. Do you remember what I used to say? I said I –"

"'Saw enough blood on the job, I don't need to eat it as well'," Steve finished with a laugh.

John looked from one partner to another. "Is that right? Did you actually say that?"

Chuckling, Mike nodded. "Yes, I did. I think I only ever said it once but he obviously remembered." Even though he couldn't see, Mike turned towards his old partner, grinning. He reached out and groped for the younger man's arm. Steve caught the searching hand and brought it down; Mike's fingers closed around the forearm and squeezed.

Continuing to laugh, John forked two large, juicy steaks onto their plates, then did the same for his wife and himself. Jeannie, who had been watching the exchange with barely concealed melancholic delight, took a sip of her wine, hiding her sudden tears behind the glass. She half-stood, picking up the large wooden bowl. "Daddy, would you like some Caesar salad?" she asked, and all three pairs of men's eyes snapped in her direction. She so seldom called her father 'Daddy' that it took all of them by surprise.

Mike was the first to recover, chuckling self-consciously. "Sure, sweetheart, I'd love some." He turned towards his old partner. "Steve, could you pass her the salad plate, please?"

Steve, who had continued to stare at Jeannie, knowing they were both experiencing that sense of inevitability that was now hanging over them, shook his head sharply and cleared his throat. "Oh, ah, yeah, of course." He picked up the plate and held it towards her, both their eyes now shadowed with guilt.

John, not unaware of the sudden tension, glanced from his wife to his guest and, using the tongs that had been sitting on the table, placed large foil-covered baked potatoes on everyone's plates.

As Jeannie watched, unwittingly biting her bottom lip, Steve picked up the potato salad bowl, spooning some onto his plate and Mike's, then, with a wonderfully familiar casualness, cut Mike's steak and unwrapped the baked potato. It was like he had been doing it his entire life.

# # # # #

"I wish I had been there to see it."

Jeannie, who was standing in front of the dresser getting into her nightie, turned to her husband distractedly. John was at the far side of the bed, pulling down the blankets. "Hmm, what did you say, honey?"

He stopped and stared at her, frowning. He knew she had been miles away. "I said I wish I had been there to see it."

"To see what?"

"To see the two of them when they were partners… when your father was in his prime."

Jeannie's face creased into a warm smile as she crossed to her side of the bed, reaching for the covers. She laughed softly. "They were something, I can tell you that. Of course, at the time, we didn't really know that… we were all just living our lives…. But, in retrospect, they had something that was just so special… I can't even put it into words." She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze far away.

John slid across the bed and put his arms around her. "You don't have to, honey. The few times I've seen them together over the years… our wedding, when Steve's been up here to see us, the party… I've got a pretty good idea what I missed, believe me." He gave her a hug and kissed the side of her face.

As he laid back on the bed, punching the pillow into submission before dropping his head onto it, he said again, "Still… I wish I'd been there to see it in person."

# # # # #

He burrowed his head even deeper into the pillows, his eyes drifting towards the wall at the foot of the bed. He knew he had to get to sleep; it was going to be a long and somewhat difficult day tomorrow. But he couldn't seem to stop his thoughts from whirling. Like a kid, he was just so excited that his best friend was in the next room.

It had been too long since they had last seen each other; and he knew his appearance had been disconcerting to the younger man. But Steve was finally here, in the next room; they had spent the last few wonderful hours together with the prospect of several more days to come.

His heart soaring, Mike Stone closed his eyes and tried to will himself to fall asleep. He was only partially successful.

# # # # #

He stared at the ceiling, his eyes wide open. Sleep was proving elusive and he knew from long experience there was a chance it would not come at all tonight.

The ghost of a warm smile curled his lips; it had been a glorious evening in the company of the people he had loved the most in his life. His one marriage had proved unsuccessful; on the other hand, his professional life had been important and fulfilling and, in retrospect, he didn't really miss that nuptial bond that seemed so necessary to so many. He had a diverse but close-knit group of friends that sustained him, none moreso than the man in the next room.

He turned his head slightly and looked at the wall to his left. He chuckled to himself, the back of his throat suddenly tightening.

He knew he hadn't come north to see Mike as often as he had longed to in the past couple of years. And it was the uncomfortable truth behind that admission that troubled him the most; the truth that was brought home the second he had stepped into his old friend's room.

He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling the need to breathe through his mouth as his throat tightened even more.

He was wrong, of course; staying away did not slow the passage of time. It marched on relentlessly, and thirty-eight years wasn't nearly long enough. Trying to muffle a sob, he felt the warm tears trickle from the corners of his eyes down his temples and onto the pillowcase.


	4. Chapter 4

"So if I can get out of my meeting early, I can swing by and pick you up, okay?" Jeannie offered, glancing into the rearview mirror as she maneuvered the large black SUV through the late morning traffic. "You have my cell number, right, Steve?"

He nodded, meeting her eyes in the mirror then glancing at the older man beside him on the back seat.

"Don't you worry about us, sweetheart," Mike said, turning his dark glasses-covered eyes in his daughter's direction. "You just concentrate on that presentation of yours. Steve and I can grab a cab home. It'll be easier, especially at that time of day."

Jeannie had known that's what her father's argument would be and she wasn't about to contradict him. She knew he was worried about the upcoming operation, even though he was trying his best to pretend he wasn't; but she also knew he was proud of his accomplished daughter and wanted her to succeed in everything she did.

After a lengthy and distinguished career running her own small architectural firm, she has sold the business and 'retired' to a life of consulting. The meeting she was heading into today, one that had been on her calendar for almost six months, was her presentation to completely redesign a major shopping centre in a high-end Seattle suburb. There was a lot at stake, and she knew her father wanted her to be completely focused.

That was going to be easier said than done, she knew; there was so very much at stake today for her father as well. Though no one had brought it up, everybody knew that if this eye operation was anything less than completely successful, it would be a devastating setback for the elderly man. As well as he seemed to be getting along right now with diminished sight, the possibility that the affliction was temporary helped to sustain Mike's sunny and optimistic outlook. But if the condition were to become permanent, it could lead to a swift, unstoppable and heartbreaking decline he might not be able to reverse.

"Don't you worry about us," Mike continued, a chuckle in his voice as he reached out, groping around slightly before his hand found Steve's leg and he squeezed. "Steve'n I'll be just fine, won't we, buddy boy?"

The two younger people froze slightly, surprised by the familiar sobriquet that neither of them had heard in a very long time. Clearing his throat to cover his shock, Steve laid his hand over Mike's and returned the squeeze, grinning into the rearview mirror as he caught Jeannie's eye and winked. "You bet," he laughed. "We'll be okay, Jeannie. I think we've had tougher things to deal with than taking a cab in Seattle."

Mike chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he nodded vigorously. "Oh, I think so," he agreed merrily, "but, not to put too fine a point on it, we were both considerably younger, you have to admit."

All three shared the warm laugh as Jeannie turned the SUV into the semi-circular driveway in front of the tall red brick medical building. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Jeannie asked as she stopped in front of the entrance.

"Got that covered," Steve said as he opened his door, getting out quickly to jog around the large vehicle and help Mike out, picking the cane up from the floor and handing it to the older man. Jeannie got out and circled to her father, putting her arms around him.

He hugged her back, bending slightly to kiss the top of her head. She looked up at his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. "Good luck, Daddy. Remember, I want to see those beautiful blue eyes again so you do everything the doctor tells you to do."

"Scouts honor," Mike chuckled, raising his right hand in a brief mock salute.

"I'll text you when the operation's over and let you know how it went," Steve assured her as she released her hold on her dad and backed away. Steve put his hand on Mike's elbow and they started towards the building.

"See you tonight, honey. Have a great presentation, you hear me," Mike said over his shoulder as he began to walk with Steve to the entrance.

"I will," she called after them, biting her lip as she watched them disappear into the building. With a heavy sigh she turned back to the Escape, getting in heavily behind the wheel. It was going to be a long day of mixed emotions, she knew.

# # # # #

Steve flipped the page of the magazine he had balanced on his knee. He started to read the first paragraph on this new page then realized he couldn't remember what the article was about. With a frustrated sigh, he closed the magazine and tossed it back onto the coffee table in the centre of the room.

Sitting back and uncrossing his legs, he looked at his watch again. It had been almost two hours since Mike had disappeared into the small operating room down the hall in the tastefully furnished and obviously very successful ophthalmic practice. A Dr. Lloyd had met them in the waiting room and escorted Mike to the back, assuring Steve that the procedure would only take a couple of hours, barring any complications, and that he could leave and come back later if he cared to do so.

Steve had assured Dr. Lloyd, amiably of course, that he had no intention of leaving; the young – too young it seemed to Steve – doctor had nodded and grinned in understanding.

Exhaling loudly, Steve got up and paced the room again. Aside from the receptionist behind the opaque glass window, he had been alone the entire time. Lloyd's office wasn't shared, and he had obviously not scheduled any other appointments for this time period, which was reassuring, Steve thought. It meant the doctor wouldn't be feeling any obligation to get the operation done quicker than necessary.

He sat down heavily and reached for another magazine then stopped. Chuckling to himself, he sat back, bringing his hands to his face. He sighed and shook his head. He knew he had been trying to fill the past two hours with minutiae, pacing, trying to read, a feeble attempt at a New York Times crossword puzzle, anything – anything except allowing his mind to contemplate what this day, and this trip to Seattle, actually meant.

Sleep had proved elusive last night. He had been more unsettled by Mike's appearance that he cared to admit to himself. And the guilt he was experiencing, the reluctance and unwillingness to acknowledge the passage of time, and his head-in-the-sand response to the facts before his eyes, was almost overwhelming.

With his usual enthusiasm and unabashed affection, Mike hadn't seem to notice his younger friend's uncomfortable awareness of the realities of time and separation – or else he was just too damn good at hiding it. But Steve knew Jeannie was aware; the way she had looked at him at dinner, reading the sadness and self-reproach in his eyes, had only made it worse. He felt he had let them both down these past few years.

He would make it up to them, he vowed – if it wasn't already too late.

He rifled through the stack of magazines on the coffee table once again. Amazingly, most of them were pretty recent and some just a few days old. He found the current issue of Vanity Fair and began to flick through the seemingly endless pages of ads at the front before finally stumbling onto a lengthy piece by Sebastian Junger about the war in Afghanistan.

He was almost through the article when the door to the hallway opened and Dr. Lloyd, in a fresh white lab coat, stepped briskly into the waiting room towards him. "Mr. Keller," he began as Steve scrambled to his feet, tossing the magazine on the chair beside him. Smiling the doctor waved him back down. "Sit down, sit down – I'll join you," he chuckled as the older man stared at him in alarm then began to relax and sat again.

Lloyd dropped into the chair beside him, a wide grin on his face. "Everything went perfectly. I couldn't have asked for an easier job."

Steve, still slightly taken aback, cocked his head slightly. "So, ah… it was a success?"

"And then some," the doctor concurred with a laugh. "It was probably the smoothest palpebral spring surgery I've ever done. So you can relax."

Steve sat back, exhaling loudly, and the doctor slapped his upper arm, grinning. "Uhm, ah, so when can I take him home?"

"Well, we had to give him a general anesthesic, just like if we removed a tooth, and he's starting to come around. It'll take a little while – it usually does for older patients; but he should be good to go in about a half hour or so."

Nodding, Steve swallowed heavily, a little surprised at how relieved he felt.

"Listen," Lloyd said, getting to his feet, "why don't you come to the back with me and you can sit with him while he wakes up. He won't be able to see you, of course, we want to keep his eyes bandaged for the next couple of days to allow the incisions to heal. It takes a little longer for the really old ones, but he's in great shape for his age and he should heal without any problems."

Steve stared at the younger man, his eyes narrowing. He had never heard Mike referred to as a 'really old one' before but that was the reality now, truth be told. His hesitation was not lost on the doctor, who smiled warmly, putting a hand lightly on the grey-haired older man's back as he turned them towards the door he had just entered.

"Mike's daughter told me you and he were partners, detectives in San Francisco years ago."

With a soft chuckle, Steve nodded. "We sure were; way back in the '70's. It seems like a lifetime ago now. Hell, it _is_ a lifetime ago."

"That would have been an interesting decade to be a cop in, I would think. Especially in San Francisco."

"Oh, it was. Never a dull moment."

"I'll bet. She mentioned something about you leaving the force and becoming a professor…?"

Steve nodded again. They were in the corridor now, on the way to the small operating theatre at the far end. "Yeah, ah, I had some medical issues and had to leave the force." He was being deliberately vague, the doctor could tell, and wisely decided not to press him.

"So how long were you partners?"

"Six years," Steve answered with a wistful smile as they reached the door.

"There was quite the age gap between you, wasn't there?" Lloyd mused gently, and Steve's smile got a little wider.

"Not that you would've noticed," he said softly as the doctor pushed the heavy wooden door open.

In the centre of the room, under a switched-off surgical lamp pushed high towards the ceiling, a still sedated Mike Stone sat in a half-reclined treatment chair. His head was back, his mouth closed, a white bandage around his head and across his eyes. His hands were in his lap.

Noticing Steve's worried frown, Lloyd smiled as they moved further into the room. "He should start waking up any second now. Why don't you sit on my stool there," he nodded towards the black seat with wheels nearby, "and keep him company."

At the sound of the doctor's voice, Mike shifted, his head moving slightly side to side.

"Talk to him; he can probably hear you now. Let him know where he is and that everything's okay. Try to get him not to move his head too much right now, if you can."

Steve, briefly taking his eyes away from his old friend to glance at the doctor, nodded, quickly pulled the stool closer to the chair and sat, picking up Mike's left hand and holding it in both his own. An older woman in a nurse's uniform entered the room, nodding at both Steve and Lloyd as she crossed to a trolley laden with various instruments and gauze bandages.

Lloyd smiled at her. "We're just gonna start to clean up. Just ignore us," he explained quietly as he helped remove the trolley. "I'll just be down the hall in my office. I'll leave the door open." And with that, he disappeared down the corridor.

Staring at the older man's bandaged eyes, feeling the twitching of the aged fingers in his own, Steve leaned closer to the chair. "Mike… it's me… it's Steve…" He reached up and gently stroked the fine, wispy hair on the top of the older man's head, careful to avoid the still healing scabs on the almost translucent scalp. "I'm here…" he continued softly, "I'm not going anywhere…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to all who continue to read, and to those who review. I know**

 **it is a difficult subject, but it is, after all, a part of life.**

"Hey hey, look at you two," John Callison chuckled as he stepped through the door, dropping his briefcase on the bench in the foyer. He quickly shrugged out of his dark blue peacoat and hung it up before moving into the living room.

Sitting back on the couch, a smiling Steve saluted him with his beer glass. "Join us."

His eyes covered with the white gauze wrapped around his head, Mike grinned, holding out a slightly shaking right hand, which his son-in-law grabbed in both his own, kneeling before the older man sitting in the armchair.

"How are you feeling, Dad?" John, who had always been uncomfortable calling his father-in-law by his given name, reached out to lay a hand gently on the side of the older man's face.

Mike nodded carefully, smiling. "I feel pretty damn good, John, all things considered. Pretty damn good."

"Does it hurt?" the younger man asked, his concerned eyes flashing towards Steve, who had leaned forward.

Mike shook his head slightly. "Not at all. They have me on some kinda painkillers and they seem to be doing the trick. And Steve here's been taking great care of me."

"That's what I heard," John chuckled, and Mike could hear the smile and appreciation in his voice. "I also heard the operation was a complete success. Is that right?"

Mike nodded again, as did Steve. "That's what Doctor Lloyd told me, and I think I should believe him, don't you?" The warmth of his laughter filled both younger men with relieved delight.

John looked at Steve. "I waited all day for that call from Jeannie," he said quietly with a heavy sigh. "I don't think I got a thing done…"

Steve nodded. "I know what you mean."

"Hey, how many times do I have to tell everybody…? I might not be able to see but there's nothing wrong with my hearing," Mike said pointedly with a chuckle as he squeezed his son-in-law's hand tighter.

John laughed, patting his father-in-law's face before standing up. The gesture reminded Mike so much of Steve that he caught his breath, an action not lost on his former partner.

"Jeannie's on her way home, she just texted me," John said as he got to his feet.

"How did her presentation go?" Steve asked, settling back again and taking another sip of his beer.

"She didn't say. She was in the middle of it when she called to tell me about your text," John started towards the kitchen. "There were no exclamation points at the end of her 'I'm on my way home' text, so I'm assuming all went well."

Mike joined in his son-in-law's laughter as the younger man disappeared into the kitchen.

"What did he mean by that?" Steve asked.

Mike leaned back in the armchair, chuckling. "My daughter has developed the habit of disclosing her true feelings not in what she says but in the punctuation she uses. John and the kids and I have gotten used to it. You'll probably need to too."

Steve laughed, shaking his head. "Jeez, did you ever think we'd be communicating to each other now by typing words into our phones, let alone walking around with phones in our pockets?"

Mike chuckled in agreement. "Hell, I never thought I'd ever see the day when we didn't have to go looking for a phone booth, did you?"

"Oh, god, you're right. How many times did we have to go in search of a working phone booth?"

"Yeah, I had most of them memorized, but we could never know till we got there if it was working or not."

"Not to mention the, ah…" Steve cleared his throat meaningfully, "the, ah, _detritus_ that was sometimes… _attached_ to them…" he finished with an uncomfortable chuckle.

"Oh yeah… Remember that time we talked about putting a box of rubber gloves in the trunk?"

They were both still laughing when John came back into the room with a bottle of Bud in hand. "What's so funny?" he asked with a smile, relieved beyond words that his father-in-law seemed to be doing so well after such a trying day.

Mike started to lean forward, reaching carefully for the glass of ginger ale on the table before him. Steve sat up quickly, picked up the glass and handed it to the older man; Mike nodded his thanks, turning to his son-in-law. "We were just talking about how easier our lives would have been back in the '70's if we'd had cell phones."

John snorted a short laugh. "Dear god, yeah. You know, I can't remember the last time I made a call from a payphone, or a rotary phone for that matter." He dropped down onto the couch beside Steve.

"Oh god, rotary phones," the retired criminology professor chortled. "I always hated numbers with a lot of 8's and 9's in them – it seemed to take forever watching that dial spin all the way back." He mimicked the sound of a rotary dial.

All three men were chuckling when the front door opened and Jeannie hurried in. Not even bothering to put her valise down or take her jacket off, she slammed the door behind her as she quickly crossed to her father in the armchair. The two younger men watched as she dropped her valise and bent over her father, putting both hands gently on the sides of his face and leaning down to kiss him on the lips. "Oh Mike," she whispered with barely concealed elation as she straightened up slightly, "how are you feeling?"

Steve took the glass of ginger ale from Mike's hand so the older man could reach up and place both hands on his daughter's shoulders. "Sweetheart, I'm fine, I'm doing great. And if you don't believe me, just ask Steve and your husband."

She continued to stare at him, grinning. "I don't have to ask them, I can tell." She threw a quick glance at Steve and he nodded, smiling. "Does it hurt?"

Mike snorted with a laugh. "Everybody keeps asking me that. No, honey, it doesn't, I don't feel anything at all. Well, except for this damn bandage around my head. That's kind of annoying."

"And it's going to stay on for the next forty-eight hours till we go back to see Dr. Lloyd, isn't it?" Steve enunciated sharply.

Mike froze, hesitatingly a couple of quick seconds before sighing, "Yes, it's going to stay on."

With a knowing giggle, Jeannie pecked her father on the cheek as she stood up and took a step back. She looked from her husband to Steve and back again. Clearing her throat, she pursed her lips, crossed her arms then said flatly, "Okay, I can understand Mike's excuse, but what reason do the two of you have for sitting here waiting for the woman to come home before starting dinner…?"

Mike's sharp laugh broke the stunned silence as Steve and John exchanged perplexed and slightly embarrassed looks.

"I thought so," she continued in mock pique as she picked up her valise and started towards the kitchen. "No no," she called over her shoulder, "you two just sit there, I can get it. After all, I only had a big presentation to give today, that's all –"

"How did it go?" Steve's voice stopped her in the kitchen doorway and she froze then turned, pinning him to the couch with the almost patented Stone stare. Her eyes narrowing, she cocked her head. "Well, you're all just going to have to wait till dinner to find out now, aren't you?" And with that she turned on her heel and disappeared into the large kitchen.

Mike's barely concealed chuckles floated through the air as Steve and John looked at each other with matching expressions of guilt. The youngest of the two cleared his throat and began to stand. "I'll, ah, I think I'll ah –"

"No, no," Steve laughed as he put his empty beer glass on the coffee table and got to his feet. "You stay here and keep Mike company and I'll go in there and make the peace and earn my keep."

"You've already earned your keep," Mike's voice followed him to the door.

"Maybe with you," Steve said over his shoulder, "but not, obviously, with your daughter." His laughter accompanied him through the door.

Her valise on the kitchen table, Jeannie had taken off her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. Opening the fridge door, she looked up as Steve came into the room and grinned. "I really didn't mean for you to help me with dinner you know. You used to be much better at interpreting my sarcasm."

"Hey, I'll have you know I've turned into a pretty good cook over the years." His sleeves already rolled up, he stepped in front of the sink and began to wash his hands. "What do you need me to do?"

A package of chicken breasts in one hand, she closed the fridge, staring at him with a slight frown. "Okay… if you really want to…I mean, I can get John to –"

Rinsing his hands, he turned to her and their stares locked. "No, I want to, I really do."

"All right," she said slowly, crossing to the counter near him and putting the package down. "What's wrong?"

He stopped moving and returned the stare.

"You wanted to see me alone so… what's wrong?" There was a tinge of fear in her voice and he turned to her, his hands up pacifyingly.

"Nothing, Jeannie, nothing." She continued to stare and he closed his eyes. He cleared his throat softly. "I just want you to know about what happened today." She swallowed heavily and bit her lower lip. "Mike's fine, and I think he's going to be even better once the bandages are taken off, but he had a hard time coming out of the anesthetic this afternoon."

She continued to stare at him, her brow furrowing even more.

"Dr. Lloyd said he talked to you about that, about how the older the patient is, sometimes it's harder for them to bounce back from a general anesthetic than a younger person." He hesitated, dropping his eyes for a split second. "I've seen him come out of an anesthetic before and he's never had a problem… but he's never been this old before…" A sad almost mirthless chuckle escaped his lips and he looked at her with a profound melancholy.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly.

He tried to smile encouragingly. "It just took him a little longer than we thought it would. Almost an hour. He was really disoriented and at first he didn't even know who I was. He could barely stand. Dr. Lloyd helped me get him out to the cab. The cabbie was amazing; a real saint. He helped me get Mike into the house here, made sure everything was gonna be okay before he left."

Jeannie, whose eyes were now brimming with tears, glanced towards the living room. "But he seems fine…"

Steve smiled. "He is. It took a couple of hours, a couple of very long hours… but he came back."

She put one hand on his forearm and squeezed, brushing a tear away with the other. "Oh, Steve, I didn't mean for you to go through that, I never thought –"

"Jeannie, honey, you didn't make me go through anything. I wanted to be there for Mike today and I'm glad that I was. Okay?" He stared at her and she stared back, unblinking. Then she closed her eyes and nodded, trying to smile.

"Look, ah," he continued with a warm smile, "do you guys have a cot or a futon or something? I'd like to sleep in Mike's room with him tonight… you know, just for my peace of mind."

She stared at him in silence, biting her lips, once more overwhelmed by the love and devotion he had always displayed towards her father. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, um, we have a futon in the basement but…" A smile started to creep onto her face. "Do you honestly think you should sleep on a futon at your age?"

He pulled his head back sharply, brows furrowing. "Hey, you're not _that_ much younger than I am, Missy."

Snorting, she turned to the counter, starting to take the cellophane off the chicken. "I'm old enough to know I wouldn't want to spend the night on a futon and expect to get up the next morning. One of our neighbours has a very nice cot that we can borrow. I'll send John over to get it after dinner."

He stared at her, his grin building slowly.

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. "Well, don't just stand there. If we want to have dinner sometime tonight, we have to get busy. Chop chop!"


	6. Chapter 6

With a hand on each elbow, Mike carefully and slowly sat on the edge of the bed. His son-in-law had helped him into his pajamas after Steve had given the older man a hand in the bathroom to get his teeth brushed, face washed and take his pills. Now the two younger men helped steer him around the folded up cot standing near the dresser in the large bedroom.

"I know all the quirks on that thing," John nodded with a chuckle and a nod towards the cot. "I'll set it up; it's a bit finicky." He released Mike's right arm and stepped toward the cot.

"Thanks," Steve smiled, keeping his own hand on his former partner's elbow. "You ready?" he asked Mike and the old man nodded. "Okay, lie back," he instructed, putting his other hand on Mike's back and helping the elderly man to lie down, his head on the pillow. Mike lifted his legs onto the bed as Steve let him go, pulling the sheet and light blanket up to cover the older man. "You okay?" he asked as Mike squirmed into a more comfortable position.

"Feels good," Mike smiled, placing his hands on his stomach, his bandaged eyes towards the ceiling. "Thanks."

They heard a grunt, a loud metallic snap and then John announced, "Got it!" as the cot unfolded and both sides dropped to the carpet with a thud. With a triumphant grin, he looked at Steve. "It's old but it still works pretty good," he said with a nod at the portable bed with its substantial-looking mattress.

Mike chuckled. "Sorta sounds like me."

Both younger men looked at him with surprised frowns then erupted in laughter. Still chuckling, John stepped around the cot and approached the bed. "Oh, I think you're working better than 'pretty good', Dad," he said warmly as he leaned over and gave his father-in-law a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Sleep well and I'll see you in the morning."

Mike reached up blindly, managing to touch his son-in-law briefly on the cheek as the younger man straightened up. With a grateful smile, John patted Steve on the arm as he stepped back and out the door, closing it behind him.

Steve stared at his old partner for a few seconds before putting his hands on his hips and turning towards the cot. "Well, I better make my bed," he said with a soft sigh and a laugh, spying the pile of folded sheets and two pillows sitting on the bureau.

"I told you you don't have to sleep in here tonight. I'm okay," Mike said softly. He was trying to sound decisive but Steve could hear the apprehension in his tone.

"It's a done deal, I told you. So just lie there and let me make my bed," Steve groused amiably as he flipped through the sheets to find the fitted one.

Mike harrumphed then remained quiet for several long seconds as Steve slipped the fitted sheet over the mattress. Hearing a lull in the low moans and groans emanating from the direction of the cot as the younger man went about making his high school home economics teacher proud, he said quietly, "There's an extra one in the closet over there."

A sudden silence filled the room as he felt Steve stop moving, knowing the green eyes had turned in his direction. "What?"

"A cane. There's an extra one in the closet. I think you're gonna need it when you try to get up from that thing in the morning." Mike was still facing the ceiling but he was biting his lips.

"Ha ha ha, very funny," Steve laughed mirthlessly, resisting the urge to swat his old friend with the pillow he was holding as he struggled to slip it into the pillowcase. A gentle, loving chuckle reached his ears from the recumbent figure on the bed and he grinned.

Mike heard a heavy sigh and then a muffled thump; he assumed it was the sound of a pillow hitting a mattress.

"There," he heard Steve crow triumphantly, "it's done. Okay, so I'm just going to disappear into the bathroom for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not."

Mike heard the ensuite bathroom door close. He sighed loudly, smiling to himself. Though he was projecting what he hoped was unwavering optimism at Dr. Lloyd's prognosis of a full recovery from the eye surgery, deep inside he was terrified. If it hadn't worked, he knew his life would be changed forever. And he wasn't sure if he had the will and desire to continue as, essentially, a blind man. It was a prospect almost too terrifying to contemplate.

He tried to relax, not wanting to do anything, like cry, he thought, to jeopardize his recovery. And he also didn't want to worry Steve.

He heard the bathroom door open again and the lightswitch snap off. Steve moved closer to the cot and Mike could hear the padding of his now bare feet on the carpet and the soft rustle of clothes being placed in the open suitcase on the floor. Steve moved towards the door and there was a moment of complete silence followed by a low chuckle.

"I was gonna ask you if it was okay to turn off the light, but that's kind of a moot point right now, isn't it?"

Mike laughed softly. "Ah, yeah."

Steve turned the ceiling light off and felt his way back to the cot in the pitch black. He managed to find it without stubbing a toe or rapping a shin and he laid down carefully and gratefully. "Hey, this is actually more comfortable than I was expecting."

"If it's the one I think it is, J.J. used to sleep on it a lot when he was a kid when I used to come up and visit Jeannie before I moved up here."

"And it belongs to the neighbour?"

"Yep. Bob and Karen next door, on the right. Great young couple. I think they were the first neighbours Jeannie and John met when they moved to this area years ago. Both families get together every couple of weeks for a potluck. It's a lot of fun."

Steve snorted, shaking his head slightly in the dark. "You've really settled in up here, haven't you?"

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I have."

A silence settled over the room for a couple of long seconds.

"Do you miss it?" Steve asked finally.

"Miss what?"

"The City?" He heard Mike inhale deeply.

"Yeah… Yeah, I do. Hell, I was born there, I grew up there. Except for the war, I spent my whole life in San Francisco until I moved up here." He paused, and Steve knew he was remembering. "But if you're asking me if I regret leaving…? Well, to be honest, buddy boy… you know me, right? I'm a realist. I knew when I started having trouble with my legs, with my balance, that living in that house was no longer an option for me."

He paused again and Steve waited. Eventually there was a dry chuckle.

"I don't have to tell you about all those stairs. They were fine when I was younger and healthier but jeez… when I started standing on the sidewalk and looking up at that house with trepidation instead of anticipation, I knew it was time I had to do something, and when Jeannie suggested I come up here and live with her and John and the kids, well…"

Steve chuckled gently. "I think you made the best decision for everybody, but especially for you. I know I was getting worried about you in that old house." He heard Mike snort self-consciously.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me now," the older man said quietly.

The back of Steve's throat tightened and he tried to cover his gasp. Words from his past rocketed through his mind: _"I'll always worry about you,"_ Mike had said to him once and he had never forgotten.

Not trusting his voice, Steve cleared his throat; he knew Mike would read his silence.

Sensing the sudden awkwardness in the room, Mike chuckled.

"What?" Steve asked, a smile in his voice.

"I was just thinking about our little discussion about payphones earlier. My god, what it must be like to be a cop now, what with cell phones and that DNA stuff and computers that have put more power in your phone that they had to put Armstrong on the moon…"

"Yeah, it sure would've made our lives a helluva lot easier, wouldn't it?"

"And saved on a lot of shoe leather too."

They both laughed.

"But you know," Steve continued, his tone turning a little more serious, "I wouldn't change our six years together for anything." He swallowed heavily. "Would you?"

He heard Mike gasp and catch his breath. Into the silence, as tears welled up in his own eyes, he could hear the older man breathing through his mouth. Both of them sniffed quietly, throats tightening and burning. Eventually Mike snorted, half laugh, half gasp. "No, buddy boy, I wouldn't change a thing… well, except for what happened to you. We both coulda done without that, right?"

Sniffing loudly and trying to cover it with a laugh of his own, Steve sighed, "Oh god yeah. I would not want to live that over again, that's for sure."

'Yeah, but you made it, and that's the most important thing, right? You made it…" Mike's voice trailed off, strangled by the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed him. They had never spoken outright about the shooting that had almost ended the younger man's life, but now, after all these years, that life-changing event, now so far in the past, seemed easier to talk about.

A silence, at first disquieting but slowly becoming more relaxed and comfortable, settled over them. Their breaths became deeper and longer; Steve closed his eyes, and a wistful smile curled his lips. He cleared his throat. "Mike," he said, a little louder than necessary.

"Yeah?" came the equally sharp reply.

"We're not done yet, you know that, right? You and I… We're not done yet."

He heard the happy, surprised gasp from the bed and his smile turned into a grin.

"You bet," the older man said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you bet…"

They both lay in the dark, remembering, reveling.

Eventually Mike cleared his throat softly. "I love you, Steve."

The younger man swallowed quickly, trying to mask the gasp that escaped his lips. "I love you too, Mike."


	7. Chapter 7

Standing in front of the large treatment chair, Dr. Lloyd leaned forward slightly as he peeled away the small piece of white tape that held the bandage in place. "Okay, let's get this off, shall we?" he said softly as he began to unwind the gauze.

Mike was sitting very still, both feet on the floor, both hands gripping the arms of the chair. He swallowed heavily, trying not to move. He knew Jeannie was standing to his right; he could almost feel her eyes on him. He knew the nurse was also in the room but he wasn't exactly sure where she was at the moment.

Lloyd pulled the final wind of gauze free from the older man's head and handed it to the nurse standing slightly behind him; she dropped it into the waste basket she had moved close to the chair. "Okay," the doctor said again as he reached for the tape holding the gauze pad over Mike's right eye, "now I want you to keep your eyes closed until I get both pads off. All right?"

Mike almost nodded, then stopped himself with a slight chuckle. "Right, although that hasn't been my problem," he said with a smile and he heard Jeannie chuckle softly.

Lloyd pulled the white tape off the older man's cheek and forehead and gently removed the pad. As he turned slightly to hand it to the nurse, Jeannie leaned in a little closer to stare at her father's eye. It seemed a little swollen and slightly reddish but otherwise normal. Her relieved sigh was not lost on the others, and both Mike and the doctor smiled again.

The second pad off, Lloyd sat back, glancing at his patient's daughter with a pleased nod. "Okay now Mike, very slowly, I want you to try and open your eyes, just like you normally would."

The older man felt his daughter's hand suddenly over his and she squeezed. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and the lids stayed open. His head slammed back into the chair even deeper. "Whoa," he said breathlessly then gasped in delight. He looked at Lloyd. "I can open my eyes…" Very deliberately he closed the lids again then opened them.

The doctor's smile turned into a grin. "Of course you can. Now try blinking normally. It's gonna take a bit until you get used to the tug of the springs but usually within a few minutes, or so I've heard, that sensation'll disappear and you won't notice it anymore."

Blinking just slightly more deliberately than normal, Mike turned to Jeannie. She had her free hand over her mouth, her own eyes brimming as she stared at her thoroughly delighted father. "I can see again, sweetheart, I can see."

Nodding, biting her bottom lip, Jeannie put both hands on his face and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "And I can see those beautiful blue eyes again." She turned to the doctor. "Thank you so much, Doctor Lloyd. You're a miracle worker."

Chuckling, the ophthalmologist took a step back. "No miracles involved here, just modern medicine." He turned to Mike. "I'm glad it worked." He winked. "So, anytime, Mike, you can go. I'd like you to come back in a couple of days for a follow-up, to make sure everything's okay, but from what I can see right now, everything's perfect."

Mike reached out to shake the doctor's hand. "Thanks, Doc, you have no idea…" Words failed him as his lower lip began to tremble.

Lloyd took Mike's hand in both his own. "It was my pleasure, Mike, it truly was." Releasing the older man's hand, he stepped back, patting Jeannie on the arm. "Do you need my assistance or are you okay here?" he asked.

Jeannie grinned at her father before turning her attention back to the doctor. "No, thank you, we'll be fine. Thank you again," she said warmly, enveloping him in a brief hug.

"You're welcome," Lloyd chuckled in delighted embarrassment before he spun on his heel and left the room, heading down the corridor towards his office. The nurse began to tidy up the room.

Jeannie faced her father. "Well," she said with a happy chuckle, "shall we go show Steve how everything turned out."

Mike, who had been staring at the door that the doctor had exited, looked at his daughter and grinned. "I'd like that." He began to lean forward in the leather chair and she put a hand on his elbow to help him to his feet. As had become the norm in the past few months, he swayed unsteadily before he gained his balance, then nodded encouragingly at her as she handed him the cane.

Steve looked up from the magazine in his lap as the door to the corridor opened and Jeannie stepped into the waiting room. The grey-haired ex-professor scrambled to his feet, staring at the doorway as Jeannie took a step deeper into the room, her father entering slowly on her heels.

Mike's striking blue eyes were the first thing he noticed when the elderly man walked towards him. Grinning, they crossed to each other. "I can see, Steve," Mike laughed with delight, stopping and holding his arms out. "I can see."

With a relieved and happy sigh, Steve closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around his old friend, one hand on the back of Mike's head to gently pull him into a warm embrace. Jeannie, tears she had been trying to contain starting to flow, one hand over her mouth, watched as Steve held her father and they rocked slowly side to side. She heard her father moan with pleasure and relief, closing his eyes as he seemed to melt into the strong grip of his closest friend.

Eventually Steve leaned back, pushing Mike slightly away as he held the older man's upper arms and, as Mike deliberately opened his eyes and stared at him, Steve's grin turned into a warm and happy laugh. "That looks beautiful."

"Amazing, isn't it?" the elderly man said, joy and wonder lacing every word. "I can actually open my eyes again."

Steve was shaking his head in amazement, mirroring the look. He released Mike's arms and took a step back as the older man dropped the cane to the floor again and looked at his daughter, who had wiped the tears away and was now grinning with unabashed affection at them both.

"Jeannie, sweetheart," Mike said with a very welcome twinkle back in his eye, "I don't know about the two of you, and John, but I would like to celebrate tonight and take you all out to dinner." He looked at Steve and grinned mischievously. "And it's on me."

Steve's low chuckle made Jeannie giggle. "Oh man, I haven't heard that for a long, long time. That sounds good to me. Jeannie?"

The younger woman tore her happy stare away from her father and smiled broadly. "I think that sounds wonderful… if you're up to it, Mike?" Her look turned serious. "I don't want you over-exerting yourself, alright?"

"Honey, I haven't felt this good in weeks. Besides, it's not even lunchtime yet, right? Let's get home and I can take a nap and be right as rain for tonight." His eyes dancing, he tilted his head towards the younger man standing beside him. "I think he could use an afternoon nap too, you know? He's no spring chicken anymore either."

"Hey," Steve snorted in bogus effrontery, "speak for yourself there, gramps. There may be snow on the roof but –"

"I know, I know," Mike cut him off with an affectionate chuckle as he started to lead them towards the door, "but I think your fire's short a few logs."

# # # # #

"So what time's your flight on Friday?" John asked, glancing into the rearview mirror as he maneuvered the Escape through a left hand turn.

"Ah, 10:50 in the morning," Steve said from the back seat.

"I can take him," Jeannie said, glancing over her shoulder. She saw her father's look of melancholy as he glanced at his former partner; she knew having Steve with them for the past several days had meant more to the elderly man than any of them could have known, or hoped.

"That means we have him for one more day," Mike said firmly, nodding, trying to put a positive spin on it all.

"And that also means one more night to dazzle you with my grilling prowess," John chuckled as he pulled the SUV into the restaurant parking lot.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Steve said with a chuckle as the large vehicle came to a stop and they opened their respective doors. He circled the Escape quickly and helped Mike slide out from the high back seat, picking up the cane from the floor; it was a ritual he was becoming extraordinarily good at, and it always made him smile.

Jeannie slipped her arm through her father's and they started slowly towards the restaurant. Steve waited for John to lock the Escape with the fob then fell into step beside him. They watched father and daughter making their way slowly across the parking lot.

John turned to the older man beside him, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's really gonna miss you, you know."

Swallowing heavily, Steve nodded. "I know. But I have to get back. I may be retired but I have commitments – lectures, talks, that kind of stuff…"

"Oh, I know. Jeannie's almost more busy now that she's _retired_ than she was when she owned the company."

"Yeah, that seems to be the way it goes."

"Yeah, but listen, do you think you'll be able to get back up here for Christmas? It would mean a lot to him. Hell, it would mean a lot to all of us – the kids are dying to see you, it's been ages."

"I know, I know. And, you know, I've been thinking about that. " Steve slowed their languid pace even more and John turned to him with a furrowed brow. The older man looked at Mike's retreating form, shuffling ahead arm-in-arm with his daughter, and he inhaled deeply. He looked at John and smiled self-consciously. "I want to spend more time with him. I've been lucky enough to have him this long…" He caught his breath and the younger man saw the tears that sprung to his eyes.

Clearing his throat self-consciously, Steve shook his head slightly, looking down. "What I'm trying to say is… or _ask_ I guess is the right term…" He paused again, as if searching for the right words. "If it's okay with you and Jeannie, I'd really like to start celebrating all the holidays up here with you and your family, while Mike's still… you know..."

John stopped in his tracks; it took another step for Steve to do the same. John looked at him with a furrowed brow then broke into a grin. "Are you kidding me? Jeannie and I were just talking about that last night. She was going to ask you if you wanted to start doing that. She thought it would be the best thing for Mike, if he could look forward to seeing you every couple of months, like family."

Steve grinned. "It wouldn't just be the best thing for him; it'd be the best thing for me right now too."

John slapped him on the back, turning him so they could resume following father and daughter towards the restaurant. Suddenly Jeannie stopped, pulling Mike to a stop, and threw her head back, laughing. Glancing at each other in bemused confusion, John and Steve hustled to catch up.

Jeannie was doubled over, still laughing as she held onto her father's arm; he was looking at her with a wide-eyed innocence that Steve knew only too well.

"What?" John asked with a short laugh as his eyes snapped back and forth from his wife to his father-in-law.

Shaking her head, still chuckling, Jeannie looked up at her father. "Go on," she ordered, "show them."

Mike, his face still the picture of innocence, shook his head and shrugged as if in bewilderment.

Jeannie shook his arm. "Show them," she ordered again, unable to stop laughing.

Dropping his eyes self-consciously, Mike chuckled and looked up at them. "I just, ah… well, I just told Jeannie I didn't spend all those Saturday mornings when she was growing up watching cartoons with her for nothing, you know…"

Steve and John were both looking at him with confused frowns, patiently waiting for the payoff they both knew was coming.

Clearing his throat, Mike straightened up as best he could and stared at them. Then he blinked and, as he did so, said "Boing."

Both younger men's heads snapped back. Jeannie started to giggle again and Mike's face broke into a huge smile. He blinked again. "Boing!"

John snorted a sharp laugh and took a step back. Steve dropped his head, shaking it as his hands, which had found their way to his hips, reached up and grabbed Mike's face. With a laugh, he held Mike's head as the older man blinked once more with a "Boing!"

"You're a maniac, you know that!" Staring into the familiar and much-loved blue eyes, Steve smiled warmly. "Never change, Mike… never change."


	8. Chapter 8

The Escape swung into the driveway and came to a smooth stop. As Steve turned the engine off and undid his seatbelt, he glanced towards the passenger seat. Mike was groping for the buckle on his left but was having trouble reaching it; the younger man's hand shot out and he pressed the latch button.

The older man chuckled as the seatbelt snapped loose. "Thanks, buddy boy." He allowed the belt to retract then reached for the handle and opened the door. Steve did the same, getting out and slamming his door before jogging around the front of the SUV to help the elderly man to slide off the high seat to the asphalt. He snagged the cane from the floor and handed it to his old partner.

"You got the glasses?" he asked and Mike patted the inside pocket of his tweed jacket.

"Sure do. Thanks again." His tone and smile were grateful and full of warmth.

"Hey, it's the least I could do to repay you and Jeannie and John for all the hospitality," Steve laughed gently as he closed the Escape door and put a hand on the older man's elbow.

As they turned towards the house, Mike said firmly, "You don't have to thank family for their hospitality. And I'm really glad you came."

Steve squeezed the thin arm in his hand. "So am I, Mike, so am I," he said softly.

As they stepped onto the stone walkway that led to the front door, the younger man sniffed the air. "John's grilling again," he observed with a chuckle.

"He said he would," Mike laughed. "It's a good thing this family likes red meat."

"I'll say."

Mike was looking down at the path but as Steve's eyes drifted up towards the front door he froze, pulling the older man to a stop. Mike looked at him. "What?"

Steve's stunned expression slowly turned into a wide grin and a deep-throated chuckle emerged. He nodded towards the house with his chin and Mike turned his head. His eyes widened in surprise.

The front door had been covered with a large white and black eye chart. They both stared, rivetted to the spot. "Can you read it?" Steve asked eventually and Mike knew he wasn't making a joke about the size of the letters or the elderly man's ability to see but the fact that the letters actually did spell something.

"Yeah…" Mike started to laugh, nodding, "yeah, I can. I can even see the smaller letters without my glasses."

Steve slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the door as Mike read, "W-A-Y T-O G-O M-I-K-E D-A-D G-R-A-M-P-S" He shook his head, chuckling. "When the hell did they get that done?" he mused, obviously delighted.

Laughing, Steve put his phone away and took the older man's elbow again. "Come on, let's get in the house."

Jeannie opened the door as they stepped up onto the landing. She was grinning from ear to ear. "Yeh, you're back. Did you get the new glasses?"

Mike looked at her from under a lowered brow. As he stopped before her, he nodded towards the door. "When in the world did you get that done?"

Her face fell and his brows knit. "Get _what_ done?" She sounded confused.

Mike tilted his head and harrumphed slightly. "The door."

Her eyebrows rose and she inhaled sharply. "Oh that? That's our new door. Do you like it?"

"Ha ha, very funny," her father said dryly and her face exploded into a broad grin as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Were you surprised? Do you like it?"

Pulling her closer in a tight embrace, he laughed. "I was and I do. It's wonderful."

She pulled back and glanced at Steve, who was also beaming. "It was the kids' idea, actually. And John had it made. I had nothing to do with it."

"Well then I'll just have to thank John and the kids," Mike said with a chuckle as she stepped back into the house and Mike and Steve followed.

John came into the living room from the kitchen. "Good, you're home." He glanced from his father-in-law to Steve then to his wife, rubbing his hands together. "We just have enough time to have a pre-dinner drink before we treat our guest to his last Seattle-grilled steak until the next time he gets his ass back up here in a couple of months, am I right?"

Steve, a little taken aback but in a good way, laughed as he shook his head. "Ah, yeah, um, right."

John approached Mike, who has moved towards the couch, still beaming. "So, Dad, what can I get you? A beer."

Mike, who had bent over carefully to lay his cane on the floor, smiled affectionately at his son-in-law. "No, John, I think I want to have a glass of wine tonight."

John's eyebrows shot up. "Great. Red or white?"

Mike's blue eyes slid from his daughter to Steve then he nodded. "Red. Goes better with steak, doesn't it?"

"You bet – and you got it." With a confirming nod, John turned to Steve, eyebrows raised.

"That sounds good to me."

"Me too," Jeannie added and John, with a nod, quickly disappeared into the kitchen. She stepped closer to her father as he sat slowly on the sofa, groaning softly as he did. "Let's see your new glasses," she said eagerly and he smiled up at her, reaching into the inner jacket pocket.

She glanced gratefully at Steve as he lowered himself into the armchair and he winked at her. Mike handed over the black leather case and she opened it. "Oh, those are gorgeous," she said, taking them out and looking at the gold-rimmed transition-lens trifocals. "Put them on." She grinned as she unfolded the arms and handed them back.

With a low chuckle, Mike glanced at his old partner in the armchair, shook his head once and put the new glasses on.

"Oh Daddy," Jeannie said breathlessly, dropping down onto the couch beside him, "they look great on you." She glanced over her shoulder. "Good job, Steve."

The grey-haired ex-professor grinned and nodded. "Why thank you, ma'am."

She snorted and turned back to her father as John came into the room with two glasses of red wine. "Whoa," he exclaimed, slowing and staring at his father-in-law before reaching out to hand one of the wineglasses to Steve and the other to Mike. "Those are great, Dad. They really suit you. Great choice!"

"Well, in that case," Mike said, picking up the case from the couch, snapping it shut and sliding it into his jacket pocket, "I think I'll just leave them on!"

John laughed as he disappeared once more into the kitchen and Jeannie leaned forward to hug her father. Steve's warm chuckle reached their ears from the armchair and both Stones grinned.

"Well, before Jeannie and I have to start serving Steve's _Last Supper_ ," John laughed as he returned to the living room with the wineglasses for his wife and himself, "we have one more thing to show you, Dad." He put Jeannie's glass on the coffee table as she got up and crossed the room, briefly disappearing into the dining room and returning with what looked like two rather large folded sheets of beige cardboard. With a disarming formality, she handed one to her father and the other to Steve.

Both of them looked at her in confusion before turning their attention to the cards, which they quickly realized were menus, of a sort. Steve stared to laugh first, and Mike joined him a couple of seconds later.

"Oh my god," the younger man chuckled, "this is priceless. Who came up with this?" He looked up at Jeannie with a knitted brow and a thoroughly beguiled smile.

Laughing, John sat beside his father-in-law on the couch. "It was all the kids idea. They were bummed out about not being here – by the way, Dad, they're both gonna call you later tonight – and they thought this up days ago."

Mike, who had been reading the menu with surprise and delight writ large across his smiling face, looked up. "Oh, I'm looking forward to that. It seems like forever since we've seen them, hasn't it?"

"It sure has," John agreed, dropping a hand on the elderly man's leg and squeezing.

Steve held up the card. "So, ah, I take it that this is the menu for tonight?"

Laughing, Jeannie sat on the arm of Steve's chair and he moved the 'menu' so they could both read it. "You better believe it is." She took the card from his hand then reached over to slip the one from her father's grasp. Standing, she stepped between the two and addressed them formally.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Chez Callison. We have a fixed menu tonight, which the chef and I," she gestured at John, "are absolutely positive that you both will enjoy and appreciate." She nodded at her husband and he got up and stood beside her, taking one of the cards.

Opening the 'menu', he began to read with a slightly comical stentorian delivery. "The main course this evening will be impeccably grilled rib EYE steaks topped with fr-EYE-d onions and mushrooms, with a side of French Fr-EYE-d potatoes." He snapped the 'menu' shut and gestured grandly towards his wife.

Jeannie opened her own 'menu' and continued, using the same stilted formality. "The appetizer will be a fusilli pasta salad," she held up a coloured picture of the corkscrew shaped noodle, "with grilled SPRING vegetables topped with IRIS petals. The dessert will, of course, be one of several flavours of EYES cream." As her husband had done, she snapped the 'menu' closed; both the Callisons stared at the two seemingly stunned men sitting before them. "Are there any questions or comments?" she inquired, somehow keeping a straight face.

After what seemed like several very long, silent seconds, Mike turned to his old partner and raised his eyebrows. "Are you still sure you want to spend more time with this family?"

The laughter from the Callison house could be heard throughout the neighbourhood.

The End

Thank you all so much for reading. This was a very different kind of story for me and I hope people liked it. Most of us, of a certain age, have gone or are going through that stage in life when our parents are aging, some gracefully, some not. It is a trying time for everyone involved and tests everyone's mettle but in the end it is a journey to be treasured.

This story is based on fact, but one I don't think many know. The last time I was privileged to see Mr. Karl Malden was in November of 2005, when I had lunch in a Westwood, Los Angeles restaurant with he and his lovely wife, Mona. He was 93 at the time, and definitely slowing down, but still very much the man we had all come to know and love.

And it was over that lunch that he told me about the eye surgery he had undergone to correct a problem he had developed – springs had been implanted in his eyelids that allowed him to open his eyes normally again. I was flabbergasted and entranced, and always remembered. And at this juncture in my writing, I decided to incorporate it into a story where his alter ego has to undergo the same procedure.

I had fun writing it, and I hope people had fun reading it. Thanks so much for your continuing support, and for those new to the site and the fandom, if any, welcome!

EKWTSM9


End file.
